Remembrance
by DeliciousLies
Summary: When Alfred goes to Arthur to ask him for help remembering something he has forgotten the two end up on a long and painful trip down memory lane. When forced to face their past, how will they react? Alfred and Arthur time travel to colonial America. Brotherly USUK. Warning: Some strong language.
1. Chapter 1: A Request

**Note from the Author: Hello! This is my first time posting something on here since 2014 (yikes, it has been A WHILE). This idea for fanfic has been with me since probably 2013 and is just something I never got around to writing. I recently decided why not? I would try it. I really hope you enjoy it, I've had a lot of fun thinking about it for the last six and a half years before I decided to write it. **

Chapter One: A Request

Arthur Kirkland was not a patient man. He never had been. Too many years of fighting wars, leading charges, sailing the seas, and basically ruling the planet had left him with a bit of a temper and a desire to have things done how he wanted and when. Due to this, he often found that when put in situations where he was not in control he began to feel upset or out of his element. He didn't care for surprises because they often put him in these powerless positions that he so detested.

And no one ever surprised Arthur more than his bumbling idiot of a former colony, Alfred F. Jones.

"So, Iggy," Alfred said, throwing his feet up on Arthur's pristine coffee table.

Arthur reached over and pushed the boy's feet down. "Don't call me that," Arthur lamely interjected. There was no heat behind it, Arthur had been saying this to him since the end of World War II when their relationship had built back up some and Alfred had accidentally let the nickname from his childhood slip. At first, it was awkward for both of them, but after some time and consideration, Alfred decided he would stick with it. Any feeling in the objecting statement had died out around the 1970s, now it was just a knee jerk response. They both knew Alfred would keep calling him that. They both knew that if he stopped calling him that Arthur would be sad, even if Arthur didn't care to admit that and Alfred knew Arthur better than to ever say anything about it.

"Yeah, okay, _England," _Alfred said dramatically, lifting his feet back up to the coffee table. "I've been thinking-"

"Have you?" Arthur interjected with such a strong sting of sarcasm in his words that Alfred looked taken aback for a moment. "There _is_ a first time for everything." There was a tense silence for a moment as Arthur sat looking straight forward with his arms crossed over his chest and Alfred sat looking at Arthur, half expectantly and half annoyed. "I'm sorry, lad, go on."

Alfred slumped back down into the couch having gotten the more pleasant of two responses he had been expecting to the stare he was giving. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I've been thinking that maybe you could use your weird magician shit-"

"It's complicated spellcasting, but continue."

"Well then, if you could use your _complicated spellcasting_ to help me remember something?" Arthur looked up at Alfred and stared into the big pleading blue eyes of the little boy he raised. Arthur had been planning on telling him "no" but something about the way he was looking at him reminded Arthur so much of when he was little and needed him that Arthur just couldn't do it. Besides he did actually say 'complicated spellcasting' when Arthur corrected him which said to Arthur that he was probably serious.

"Perhaps I could," he said slowly. "What are you trying to remember?"

"Okay, um," Alfred started and looked at Arthur with a hesitant expression on his face. He looked away quickly, seeming almost shy in demeanor, and spoke in a rush. "Okay, so, back in 1685 we lived in a house in -"

"Connecticut," Arthur finished, harsh but quiet. Now he understood the shyness from a moment ago. Alfred was talking about their history from _before. _

"Mhm," Alfred said, nodding slowly. "But we also had a house in-"

"South Carolina," Arthur said, interrupting him again. Arthur had never forgotten a detail of their time together. "America, if you were trying to remember locations, I could even be more specific than that. We don't need magic."

"No, no, that's not what I'm asking," Alfred said, making eye contact before turning away again to say, "I remember everywhere we lived."

Arthur set his jaw. Why were they having this conversation? Arthur loved having Alfred around although he would never admit it, but he was not ready to talk about their past yet. Not here, not now, definitely not with Alfred. "What are you asking then, boy?" he asked, harsher than he meant. Mentally, he kicked himself. He knew Alfred didn't like being called 'boy'.

Alfred ignored it. "The house in South Carolina," he started before having to stop and restart. "Um, when you were… gone...," he said, peeking at Arthur as he said the word. Arthur was staring at his hands which were tightly clasping one another, his jaw clenched. "I, um, I was in the market in Charleston and I picked up this really nice shaving kit I had bought. It was engraved and everything," he said.

"Why would you need a shaving kit? You can't even grow a beard now, let alone is 1685," Arthur said but upon seeing Alfred's eyes and raised eyebrows, he understood the shaving kit had not been for Alfred at all but for Arthur. "Oh, of course," he said, turning his eyes back to his clenched hands which seemed to tighten up a little.

"Yeah, anyway," Alfred said, swallowing and trying to get through this conversation. "I bought this really nice shaving kit. And I was walking home -"

"Alone?" Arthur asked before he could stop himself. _You idiot, _he thought to himself. _This was 335 years ago, the lad obviously made it home okay._

"Yeah," Alfred said, glancing at Arthur once again from the corner of his eye. "Some men were approaching and I got really scared and I hid, and I hid the shaving kit. Well, one of the men found me hiding and demanded I go home and he followed me there." Arthur's head snapped up and his nostrils flared as he was filled with paternal anger. Whoever this man had been, he was lucky Arthur hadn't been there to watch this man scare his boy and then follow him home.

"I was so scared to go back out for a few days, and then you surprised me by coming home and I forgot about it for a few days until I remembered that I wanted to … to give it to you. But when I went to look for the shaving kit I couldn't find it. I had forgotten where it was. Um, and I know this is dumb, but I keep dreaming about it? For some reason? Like the whole event keeps, like, playing in my mind? So I was just wondering if you could help me remember where it was," Alfred paused and when he spoke again he began to pick up speed, something he had done when he was nervous since he was very little. "And I know it's stupid and it was like 350 years ago so it doesn't matter and it's gone now anyway but like, Iggy, I keep _dreaming_ about it and it's really messing me up for some reason and I just want to remember where it was and like I know you probably have better things to do so actually nevermind I'll be fine I-"

"America," Arthur said, interrupting him. His eyes were sad and he sounded so tired that Alfred felt bad for ever bringing this up. "Does it mean that much to you?" Alfred nodded. "I'll help you."

Arthur stood slowly, feeling his age as he rose. "Come on," he said, using his hand to gesture towards his basement door.

"What - like - right now?" Alfred asked, stumbling as he quickly rose to his feet to follow the shorter man.

England rolled his head back and popped his shoulders. "Why not?" he asked. "It would work better in Charles Tow-" he started but caught himself. _Charles Town? It's not been Charles Town in a very long time_ he thought. "It would work better in _Charleston,_" he said, enunciating. "However, with the meetings for this month just beginning and my busy schedule who knows when I'll make it to Charleston? It could be months, years even." For just a second, the sentence hit like deja vu for both of them, and Arthur hated it.

"So what do we do?" Alfred asked, following Arthur down the creaky wooden steps and into the basement.

"Well," Arthur said, grabbing a book off of a shelf hidden under the stairs. "It's a fairly simple potion and incantation combination. I'll do all of that, obviously," he said, walking past Alfred to a large wooden table on the other side of the room, pressed up against shelves full of ingredients for potions. "What I need you to do is focus on that time, on when you lost your-" Arthur interrupted himself with the thought _Your? It wasn't for him. _"When you lost the shaving kit. I'll think about that period as well, hopefully, that will help get us closer to what you want," Arthur was frowning. He did not want to think about that period at all. But he agreed to help and the sooner this was over the better.

Alfred nodded and tried to stand out of the way of everything. However, Alfred was like a golden retriever, he didn't realize how big he was. He kept jostling things and giving Arthur apologetic smiles as he hit something else. Call it nostalgia, call it understanding. Either way, Arthur could tell that, for once, the boy wasn't trying to be a nuisance.

"America," he began, trying to remain patient with the usually obnoxious boy in front of him. "Just," he took a breath. "Just stand _right there_," he said, pointing towards an open area of the floor with runes covering the concrete and a cauldron in the middle of it.

"Uh, kay, yeah, dude. I'll just… I'll just do that," Alfred said, slowly making his way to the rune-covered floor. He looked around at them trying to make sense of the markings. "Yo, is this, like, safe? Like, are we doing like demon shit right now?"

"No, we are not. Yes, it is safe. Don't ask me questions, I did agree to help you," Arthur said while carefully gathering Rosemary and placing it to the side.

"Yep, yes, you did. Thank you," Alfred said, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. Alfred felt kind of strange about this whole thing and was beginning to wonder if this would be something he regretted shortly. He could already feel Arthur closing off some, and that made him sad. He had thought that he and Arthur had reached a place where it wouldn't be too awkward for him to ask this, but maybe he was wrong. But maybe he wasn't? Arthur _had _agreed to help after all.

"America," Arthur called after a few minutes.

"Yeah?" Alfred answered, head snapping up as he broke out of his train of thought.

"Bring me that cauldron," Arthur said, pointing to the cauldron on the ground in front of Alfred without taking his eyes off of the ingredients before him. Alfred picked up the cauldron and put it on the table. He started to turn around when he heard, "And America?" Alfred turned back around. "Come here," the Briton said, watching the younger. Alfred stepped closer and was surprised when Arthur reached up and yanked some of his hair out.

"Ow! What the fuck, England?"

"I needed something of yours for this. Since it is your memory," he said, adding the hair to the cauldron with the other ingredients. "It was either going to be your hair or your blood."

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, you could've just told me."

"Mmm, perhaps," Arthur conceded, not truly paying attention as he was finishing the mixture. "Alright, America, come here," Arthur said.

"You're not going to pull out my-"

"No, I'm not taking any more of your hair."

"Okay," Alfred said and walked over to the table where the mixture was sitting stagnant in the cauldron. "What now?"

"Well, now," Arthur began. "I'm going to start the incantation, you need to look into the cauldron and breathe in the steam coming off of it-"

"There is no steam."

"There will be, don't interrupt me," Arthur said, continuing where he left off. "Breath in the steam and think about what you're trying to remember. It should appear as a vision in the cauldron. Are you ready?" Alfred nodded and leaned over to look into the cauldron. "Alright then." Arthur began to chant in Latin and slowly the mixture in the cauldron began to boil.

_This is so fuckin' weird,_ Alfred thought to himself. _Who would've thought this is how I would spend my Saturday? In Iggy's basement breathing in his potion? I wonder what Mattie would think. He wouldn't believe it. He may not believe I'm even hanging out with Iggy today. Oh, shit, I'm supposed to be thinking about Charleston. Come on, Jones, focus. Charleston, Charleston, Charleston. I didn't like living in Charleston, not then anyway. It seems like Iggy was never even there. He was always away, sailing back to England. He made sailing sound like so much fun. Why did he never take me with him? I could have been helpful. Okay maybe not. But I could've boosted morale! I wonder what it was like onboard with him. Well, he's a stick in the mud, and he always has been so honestly probably lame._

_This is uncomfortable, _Arthur thought over his chanting. _The last thing I want to do is watch this memory of America when he was little. I suppose I'm drinking tonight then. Alright, Kirkland, focus. You told the lad you'd try to help get the time right for his memory. You probably remember much more clearly than he does anyway, he was so small. Charles Town. He said I was gone. What time was that? I was out sailing then I suppose. I surprised him so he wasn't expecting me back yet. What time was that? What was I doing? I was out privateering I'm sure. But did I cut that short for some reason?_

The potion popped causing Alfred to jump back, startled. When he jumped the entire table shook just barely and from the top shelf next to the table a bottle of rosemary, a bottle of bay leaves, and a vial of ink all fell into the potion at once. The entire concoction began to bubble up and over the cauldron, sliding off the table. When it hit the table, it began to spin around the two countries, causing a spinning blue and gold wall of magic to encase them. Alfred looked fearfully at Arthur who was trying to gauge what was happening. It was then that he noticed the walls moving in slowly.

"America, take my hand," the Brit demanded, holding his hand out to the younger nation.

"Iggy, what's going on?"

"Take my hand!"

"I didn't mean to do it, I-" America began, scared and babbling.

"ALFRED," Arthur yelled, using the younger's name and shocking him into paying attention. "Take. My. Hand!"

Alfred obeyed immediately, unsure if it was because of the fear, Arthur's insistence, or the surprise of hearing his human name pass from Arthur's lips for the first time in two hundred years. Alfred took Arthur's hand just in time because the wall moved in and everything disappeared in a flash of blinding white light.

Alfred woke up groggy and having squint against hot sunlight beating down on his face. He was vaguely aware of the smell of saltwater and the squawking of seagulls overhead. The whip was whipping around his face and he was vaguely aware of the sounds of people moving about all around him.

He put his hands down to feel the rough texture of wooden boards. He pushed himself up, his head pounding. "What the-" he started, but stopped when he felt something sharp and metallic pointing into his throat.

Looking up slowly, Alfred saw first the sword digging into him and then the man wielding it. He had on worn brown leather boots and was wearing a long sweeping red coat with golden buttons and accents trailing up it. He had on a large red hat with a dark feather sticking out of it and an angry expression upon his face, shining through his green eyes.

"Who the hell are you? And how did you get on my ship?" England demanded from the other end of the sword.

**This concludes chapter one! Thank you so much for reading! I do have an entire story planned out so do be on the lookout for more chapters in the near future. I would love to hear what you think though! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2: A Meeting

**en Author's Note: Well, I'm uploading twice in one day so obviously I have really missed this. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Thank you for continuing to read. I'm worried this is about to get confusing so just to prevent that - Alfred is present-day America, Arthur is present-day England, England is 1685 England. However, Alfred and Arthur do call each other "America" and "England". But if it is not in dialogue, Arthur is present England, England is past England. Thank you!**

**Previously:**

_Looking up slowly, Alfred saw first the sword digging into him and then the man wielding it. He had on worn brown leather boots and was wearing a long sweeping red coat with golden buttons and accents trailing up it. He had on a large red hat with a dark feather sticking out of it and an angry expression upon his face, shining through his green eyes._

_"__Who the hell are you? And how did you get on my ship?" England demanded from the other end of the sword._

Chapter 2: A Meeting

Alfred looked up at England, unsure of where to go from here. "Are you… Are you serious, dude?" he asked, tilting his head forward to look at the older man over his glasses.

"You will address the captain of this ship with respect," England answered, pressing down harder on the sword causing the skin to break just barely and a thin line of blood ran down into Alfred's white t-shirt.

Now Alfred was really confused. It did seem like they were on a ship, but how? Weren't they just in Arthur's basement? And why was Arthur acting like this?

"Iggy, what the fuck are you doing? It's _me_," Alfred said, trying to break England out of whatever trance he was in.

England looked taken aback for a moment, lowered his sword and pulled the boy to his feet. "What did you just call me?" he whispered, furious. One hand held the collar of Alfred's shirt, the other still clutched the hilt of his sword.

Alfred took a deep breath. "Okay, England, I'm sorry. I know you asked me to stop but-" He was cut off by a punch to the gut which was made worse by the cold hilt of the sword the hand was still wrapped around. Alfred doubled over, gasping for breath. _Alright, I'm fucking done being nice. Whenever I can breathe, I'm gonna beat the hell out of him. _

England crouched down next to the gasping teenager and pulled his head up by his hair. "I don't know who you are or how you know who I am. Did Spain send you? Or that bleeding Frog? Hm?" England slid his sword under Alfred's chin. "I don't do well with spies. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Step away from the boy," another British accent said coming from behind England. Alfred couldn't see the person because of England's tight grip on his hair, but at the sound of such utter disregard for authority, he felt England tense up before throwing Alfred's head down towards the deck.

"How dare you speak to the captain that way," he said, slowly turning around. "Who do you think you…?" but his question trailed off because when England turned around he found himself looking down the sword of a man who looked exactly like him, maybe a few years older. "What is this sorcery?"

"I said step away from the boy," Arthur repeated, eyes not leaving England. Alfred, who was probably more confused than anyone, watched from the floor. "Or I will run you through _right now_."

England looked at the sword and then at Alfred behind him. "You want him? Fine," he said, pulling Alfred to his feet and shoving him at Arthur, using the distraction to run around them yelling, "Oi! There's an imposter on board! Two men, one of them looks like me! Gentlemen, give them a warm welcome," he said, a malicious smile warping his features as he turned back to Alfred and Arthur. "Send Spain my regards."

"What is happening?" Alfred whispered to Arthur, concerned.

"I have an idea," Arthur said, scanning the encroaching crowd of men. "We'll have to talk about it later. Here," he said, kicking up a sword from where it lay on the ground and handing it to Alfred. "First we have to handle this. And America, try not to kill them if you can," he said before swinging at the first man to come near him.

The clang of metal on metal filled the air as Arthur took on multiple attackers at once. He was rusty, sure, but these men still couldn't compare to him. The air filled with sweat and adrenaline and blood as Arthur continued to work his way through the forces, feeling the most alive he had felt in years. "God, I've missed this," he said, smiling hungrily at the oncoming forces.

Alfred was very confused. A large man missing an eye swung at him and only didn't hit him because Alfred had the good sense to hold up the sword in his right hand. He didn't know what he was doing. By the time Alfred was old enough to be involved in combat, sword fighting had fallen away as a popular form of engagement.

Arthur was on fire. His lungs burned most delightfully as he continued doing one of the things he had been best at, and he had been very good at quite a few things. He would have continued for hours, but he heard a slash of metal through flesh behind him and a sharp intake of breath from Alfred.

Arthur spun around quickly to find Alfred clutching his heavily bleeding side. "What happened?" he demanded. "Do you not know how to defend yourself?"

"I don't know how to sword fight at all!" Alfred answered, gritting his teeth and digging his left hand into his side. "It was not something I ever needed for warfare."

"Give me that," Arthur said, gesturing at the sword, "and get behind me."

Alfred did as he was told as Arthur worked them back into a corner so that none of the men could get to Alfred. If they wanted to, they would all have to come through him. Alfred slumped down between the walls, applying pressure to his wound, and watched as Arthur fought. Arthur was wielding swords in both hands and found that he was often fighting more than one man at a time. He would slash one and turn and duel with another, at one point even kicking a man overboard.

"Stop!" England yelled from the back of the crowd. The men parted down the middle so that he could walk up to Arthur who pointed one sword directly at the captain. "You have my attention and a temporary reprieve. I cannot have you killing or injuring all of my men. Due to you, we're already going to have to shorten our voyage. We had one more stop but instead, we're going straight to Charles Town in the Province of Carolina. Put your weapons down and join me in the Captain's Quarters," he said and turned around. "None of you is to touch either of these men. Get back to work!"

As the crew resumed their tasks, Arthur dropped the swords next to him and turned to Alfred who was growing pale. "Alfred, are you alright?" he whispered, putting his own hands on the wound, causing Alfred to wince. Alfred nodded. "Boy, you should've told me if you didn't know how to sword fight."

"Don't call me 'boy'," Alfred shot back but his voice was a little bit quieter due to the bleeding in his side.

"Let me know if you're doing something that will get you killed and I won't. Well, come on," Arthur said. "We have to go speak to the captain."

"England, what is going on?" Alfred asked as Arthur helped him stand.

"Let's talk to the captain to be sure," he said. "But I think when all of those extra ingredients fell in the cauldron, we may have traveled back in time? I'm not sure, this is unprecedented. I don't know why we would be here though and not in Charleston with you unless you were thinking about…" But Arthur trailed off when Alfred looked away. Alfred _had_ been thinking about this then. He had been thinking about Arthur off on his ship. Why had he been thinking of that? Arthur didn't know what to think or how to feel about it.

The two were silent until they reached the door to the Captain's Quarters. Arthur raised his hand to knock but hesitated. "I know this may be hard for you, but please do not be disrespectful to him. He's the captain, this is his ship. There are things you do not know about me, America. Do you understand?" Alfred nodded quickly upon seeing how serious Arthur was. "Good then," Arthur said and turned and knocked on the door.

England opened the door. "Come in," he said moving out of the way. He looked Alfred up and down. "You can set him down there," he said, gesturing to a chair with armrests. "Try not to bleed on it, alright? Here," he said, watching as Arthur helped Alfred sit down and then threw a piece of thick white cloth at Alfred. Alfred began to use that to soak up some of the blood. "You sit there," he said to Arthur, referring to a stool next to Alfred. Arthur sat indignantly and the look on his face had Alfred wondering if it wouldn't be Arthur who had the problem with giving this other man respect.

"Tell me," England said, pulling a greater chair over near them and sitting down. "What kind of glamour is this? It's very precise for you to look so much like me. Did one of my brothers send you then?"

"No," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "Listen, and I need you to believe me," the tone of his voice caused England to raise his eyebrows and Alfred began to think he was right. It was going to be Arthur who upset him. "Due to a mishap with a remembrance spell, it appears that we have traveled backward through time."

England looked at them for a moment before breaking into harsh laughter. "Time travel spells aren't possible. Who sent you?"

"They are possible, it was an accident," Arthur reiterated. "Your name is Arthur Kirkland. You have three brothers - Alistair, Rhys, and Cian. One sister - Saorise. You have a little boy - Alfred - you named him after one of your favorite kings. You have other colonies, but he's the only one you really consider a son," as he said this Alfred turned to look at him and noticed that Arthur blushed just a little.

"_He _picked _you,_" Alfred added, worried that Arthur's pause may give England cause to decide they were done proving themselves.

"Quite right, that's why he's your favorite. That, and he reminds you of yourself when you were younger. Spirited and rebellious, but so much more innocent" Arthur said, unable to look at Alfred. "Right now you've been out pirating and you're headed back to see him and you won't tell him a word of what you really did because you want to teach him what it is to be a gentleman. Yes, you'll tell him all about seeing the king - it's 1685, correct? So, King James. You'll tell him all about seeing King James and about trade deals and you'll say what fun you had sailing, but you won't mention the raiding Spanish ships or the sword fights or the cannons." Arthur was extremely aware of Alfred's eyes on him. "You don't want to expose him to that."

England looked pale and his jaw was clenched. "You're saying that you are me?" he asked, voice tense.

"Yes."

England looked at the man across from him for a long moment before shaking his head. "That… That proves nothing. France could have told you any of that, all of it even," England said, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief of this story and anger at France.

Arthur took a deep breath. "You don't do as much magic as you used to, but you keep a Draught of Forced Truth in your desk drawer. I'll take it if you like," he said.

England looked him up and down and then his eyes flitted to his desk where he did, in fact, have a vial of truth serum. After a long moment of deliberation, he stood up and got it. Arthur stepped forward and put out his hand, but England shook his head. "Not you," he said. "I can feel the magic coming off of you. Him," he said, motioning his head towards Alfred.

"He's hurt!" Arthur hissed.

"I know. He's not magic, and he is weak. He won't be able to resist the effects. You stabilize that wound, and we'll get started," England said, throwing himself back in his chair to watch as Arthur stared him down for a moment before turning to Alfred.

He walked over to the younger who was still holding his side. "Let me see it," he said, lifting Alfred's ruined t-shirt to see the gash. "Well, the good news is it isn't deep. The bleeding looks worse than it is." He turned to the captain. "Do you have any rum?" The captain put a bottle on the floor and kicked it towards the other two. "Take a drink of this, you'll thank me," he said, handing the bottle to Alfred who did take a deep drink and then gagged. Arthur smiled. _That's right. He's not old enough to drink in his country. And alcohol was so very different back then. _And after a moment's thought, he took a deep drink himself before pouring it over the wound. Alfred tensed up and Arthur said, "I told you you would thank me. It would be worse."

"What is it that I'm supposed to do?" Alfred whispered, eyes flitting up to those of England who was watching the other two suspiciously.

Arthur sighed. "You're going to drink that vial. It's going to taste absolutely dreadful. You're going to drink it and it's going to feel like you're listening to someone else talk. You will be aware of everything asked of you, but it won't seem like you're the one answering it. You won't be able to lie about anything."

"I don't think I like that," Alfred ground out as Arthur ripped off a part of his own undershirt the start bandaging the wound.

"I don't either," Arthur said.

"England, what if he asks about… Like you know… Is it going to change the… The timeline?" Alfred asked, nervous.

"About your independence?" Arthur hissed. "No, it shouldn't. Time travel has been talked about before, written about in spell books, but we've never seen it actually work. We always thought they were just hopeful stories. But, according to those writings, everything that will happen to us here has already happened to us then," he said. "So, your precious independence is safe," the words were almost like venom.

"If it already happened, why don't I remember it?"

Arthur paused. "I don't know, I don't remember it either. So be careful, I suppose."

"That's enough!" England yelled from across the room, not caring for the whispers. He stood and sauntered across the room, uncorking the vial. "Here you go, lad, drink," he said, handing it to Alfred. Alfred looked hesitantly at Arthur, who nodded, and drank it.

The taste was even worse than Arthur had led him to believe. It made his entire body feel cold and within a matter of moments, Alfred felt that his mind was moving much faster than his body.

"Well, then," England said, pulling up the stool Arthur had been sitting on so that he could get right in Alfred's face. Arthur stood back against the wall, watching the exchange with his arms crossed and teeth gritted. "Tell me your name, boy."

"Alfred F. Jones." Arthur was right. It did not feel like Alfred was the one answering these questions.

England found the first name interesting considering who he was with and sat up a little straighter. The next question he asked a little gentler. "Was that always your name?"

"No."

"What was it before?"

"Alfred Kirkland." Alfred wanted to scream, he didn't like people getting all into his personal business. Matthew was the only person he ever talked to about this kind of stuff and he was his brother. On the wall, Arthur got even more tense hearing that name come from Alfred himself.

England jerked back like he had been burned. "What?" he asked, glancing at Arthur on the wall. "This is Alfred?" he demanded, his voice shocked and upset. Arthur just nodded. "He called me Iggy," England said, realizing. "Why didn't you tell me? God, I was just letting you bleed out over here," England took deep breaths and covered his mouth, seeming more and more like the Arthur Alfred knew and remembered. "Oh, I'm so sorry, lad," he said. He turned back to Arthur and laughed a nervous little laugh. "Well, he sure is big, isn't he?"

Arthur nodded again, not smiling. "He is."

"How did you get here?" he asked Alfred, now much kinder than he had been five minutes earlier.

"I asked Iggy for help remembering something important and I accidentally knocked some more ingredients in the cauldron. There was a big whirlwind of color and then we were here," Alfred slurred.

"Why would you end up here, lad?"

_No, no, no,_ Alfred wanted to scream. What he was about to say he wouldn't have said to England back then and he really didn't want England from the present day to hear this. But just as before, the words came out and Alfred could hear them regardless of how hard he was trying to stop them. "I focused on the wrong thing. Iggy told me to think about the time I was trying to remember, but I didn't think about me. I thought about you and how you always left me. And why wouldn't you take me with you? You knew I wanted to go. When you did take me, I always tried to be perfect so you would take me again." If Alfred could have screamed, he would have screamed.

Arthur clenched his fists so tightly he broke the skin of his palm. Alfred had wanted to go with him, and he had been too set on being a pirate to take the boy back to Europe with him. Sure he had taken Alfred to London before, but always on official ships. And Arthur preferred to sail under the skull and crossbones, so the times he took Alfred were few.

This seemed to touch England as well and he took a moment to compose himself before going on, probably thinking of the little boy impatiently waiting for him in Charles Town. "What are you the personification of now?"

Arthur tensed. In his mind, Alfred felt his stomach drop. "The United States of America."

England smiled. "Your own country? Wonderful." Alfred could have cried. He was mortified that this was happening, but there was also so much pride in England's voice that Alfred felt sad because he had never heard that in his current England who hated everything about him at times it seemed. "What year is it, where you're from?" And that pride he was hearing was about to disappear. Alfred knew that,

"2020," he heard himself answer. Arthur watched England expectantly.

"2020?" England repeated and then whipped around to look at Arthur. "He's too young. He's too young to look this old for one. When we were his age we were what physically? Ten, if that?" Arthur could only nod. "What happened?"

Alfred started to answer, but Arthur rushed across the room and covered his mouth. Alfred didn't stop speaking, but it was too muffled to understand. "There are some things about the future you probably don't want to know," he said, sad eyes staring into England's.

England nodded slowly. "Right," he said, standing carefully. "Well, I suppose I do believe you now." He looked over at Alfred and smiled a little, somewhat sad but as proud as ever. "He can lay down over there," he said, nodding towards the bed in the corner of the room. "Sleep off the draught."

Arthur nodded and walked over to the dazed teenager. "America," he said. Alfred tried unsuccessfully to turn his head. "It's alright, lad, come on," he said, helping the boy stand and walking him over to the bed. He pulled the sheets back and helped Alfred lay down. "You just sleep that off. When you wake up you should be fine. I'll watch that wound for you, of course. Um, well, pleasant dreams," he said awkwardly and began to turn around.

"England," a cracked voice strained. He turned around to see Alfred looking at him. "Thank you."

Arthur could only nod in response and watched as Alfred fell into a dreamless sleep.

**Thank you for reading! Please leave a review!**


	3. Chapter 3: A Discussion

**Welcome back! I have had so much fun writing this and I am so happy you guys are reading it and enjoying it! Thank you all for stopping in to my little story. I really appreciate it 3 Without further ado, chapter three!**

Chapter Three: A Discussion

Arthur turned back around to find that England was looking at the two of them. He jerked his head towards the door and went out with Arthur close behind.

It was a humid night on the seas with winds breezing over the deck of the ship, but the waters were calm. The deck was almost clear of men and Arthur found England leaning over the railing, looking out at the open waters and up at the incredibly starry sky.

_It's been a while since I've seen a night sky like this_ Arthur thought to himself. _With light pollution these days, I almost forget there are this many stars._

"I never wanted him to see me like that," England said, breaking Arthur from his reverie and drawing him to lean on the railing as well. "I know he's older and his own country now - in your time. But I never wanted him to see me like that." He laughed a joyless laugh. "But I suppose you understand that better than anyone."

Arthur sighed. "I do, believe me," he responded, his thoughts consumed with boys in blue coats. He had never wanted Alfred to see him that way and yet he had shown that part of himself to the boy time and again. First in the American Revolution when he had been trying desperately to keep Alfred with him. Then, and more severely, in the War of 1812 when in a moment of rage and passion he had lit the boy's capital on fire. Well, he didn't light it himself, but he definitely didn't stop them either. He didn't know at the time that Alfred was nearby, and the resulting scream still haunted Arthur's nightmares. Reports from soldiers said that he was clawing at his chest over his heart and screaming as he was escorted out of the capital by American soldiers. At the time, Arthur had rationalized it by saying it was for his own good. That once all of this was said and done and Alfred was home again Arthur would make it up to him. But Alfred never came home. And Arthur couldn't blame him. He had had his capital burn before, he knew what that felt like, and he had done it to his boy anyway.

"You understand why I didn't believe you?" England asked, looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye.

"Of course, I do," Arthur said. "I wouldn't have believed myself either."

England turned around so that his back was leaning against the ship's railing and he looked towards the door of the Captain's Quarters. For a few minutes, the two men stood in absolute silence, one looking out at the ocean and the other looking at the door to where Alfred was sleeping.

England was the first one to break the silence. "Are things very different? In the future."

Arthur took a deep breath and continued to gaze into the inky blackness of the sky and water. _Everything is different_ he thought. _The empire is gone. You and Alfred have only just begun to speak again within the last eighty years after he fought a WAR to get away from you. At one point, you'll take Matthew from Francis, and what a rift that causes. I'm not sure Francis or Matthew ever really forgave me for that. Would Francis have helped Alfred in his revolution if I hadn't taken Canada? What would I have done if Francis had taken Alfred from me? Well, too late for any thoughts like that. Everything is alright, I suppose, with all three of them now. Yes, things are very different. More so than you could imagine. And it is all your fault. _"Somewhat," he answered aloud, never turning his eyes from the sea.

"He's still so young," England said, thinking about the young man sleeping in his quarters who he had just discovered to be Alfred all grown up.

"He is," Arthur answered, gripping the railing as tightly as he could. "He really is. But he's quite impressive actually. As a nation, he's a global superpower. He wants to help everyone, even when they don't want his help. He is very successful. And as a person, he's loud and obnoxious, but he's kind and he means well." Arthur normally wouldn't talk to anyone about Alfred like this, but no one else was around and he was, quite literally, talking to himself so he didn't mind. His past self would understand, and he wouldn't even know all the messy details that might make it harder to comprehend. "I think sometimes he throws up this loud hero persona to stop people from worrying about him. And maybe that works on France or Russia or whoever else, but I don't think it works on Canada, and it definitely doesn't work on me. I raised the boy, I can read him like a book."

England was silent for a moment. "He has a lot on him then?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, he does."

The two men stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes more, each wrapped in his own thoughts. England, again, was the one to break the silence. "How do you plan on getting back?" he asked.

Arthur sighed, took one more long look at the beautiful open sea he missed so much and turned around so that he too was facing the Captain's Quarters and leaning against the railing behind him. "I have no idea. Getting here in the first place was an accident."

England took a deep breath. "I suppose when we dock you can come home with me. This may confuse Alfred - _my_ Alfred - but he's a bright lad. He'll understand eventually. When I dock, I'll have to spend a day in town talking to officials and settling affairs, but the second day I should be able to make it. I can, of course, help you get lodging for the night. I'd rather you didn't go on ahead. I think I need to explain this to Alfred myself."

Arthur nodded. "Of course."

"After that, you're free to stay at the house. I'll send the staff away, I usually do anyway when I get back so I can just spend time with Alfred," England explained and it struck Arthur as funny that it was being explained to him because he remembered that quite clearly. "We'll work on a way to get you home. You and I can study magic, and if _he,_" England said with a jerk of his head towards the cabin door, "doesn't mind, he can watch Alfred."

Arthur nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

England grunted in response.

"How far out are we?" Arthur asked, glancing around the deck of the ship.

"About two days from Charles Town," England answered.

Arthur turned back around to gaze out over the waters and tried, despite knowing better, to see the landmass out in the distance.

Alfred woke with a start, golden sunlight streamed in through a window over his head. He wasn't wearing his glasses and could barely make anything out. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then it all came rushing back to him like water let loose from a dam. Alfred was mortified, and he was blushing so hard that he could feel the heat radiating from his face.

_I can't believe I actually said all of that shit in front of ENGLAND of all people_ he thought, covering his face with his hands. _God, he's never going to let me forget this. _

The door opened and Alfred threw his hands away from his slowly cooling face and squinted, trying to make out whoever had just entered. "Who's there?" he asked, throwing his feet down to the floor and wincing due to the gash still in his side.

"Be careful," a British voice said, walking over and handing him his glasses. Paired with the voice and the shape that cleared as he got closer, Alfred was positive this was Arthur. But he didn't know which. When he put them on he found himself looking at England in his draping red coat and hat.

"England?" Alfred asked tentatively. "Like past England? Great Britain? Captain?" he added on, rushed.

England laughed awkwardly. "You don't have to call me captain." He sat down on the bed next to Alfred with such a comfortable air about him that any questions Alfred had had about which England this was vanished. Arthur wouldn't be this normal with him. "I truly am sorry about last night, Alfred," he said and it struck Alfred as odd how many times he had heard England say "Alfred" in the past two days. He had to remind himself that for this England, it was normal to say "Alfred" instead of "America". "I never should have behaved that way, and I truly never wanted you to see me behave that way."

"Uh, that's okay, dude," he said, wincing as he reached over to touch his side. This past England really had no idea what was going to go down in a little less than one hundred years.

"How is it?" England asked, glancing around to watch as Alfred pulled the bandage back a bit.

The wound was red and angry but there appeared to be no other signs of damage. "Well, I'm worried it's going to get infected, but other than that, it's fine. He was right, it's not that deep. It just bled really bad."

England nodded, watching closely as Alfred bandaged it back up. "Well, just so you know, your Arthur and I talked about it, and he told me you have absolutely no sailing experience, is that right?"

Alfred bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something along the lines of 'You both discussed that without me, huh? Fuckin' classic England, always in control.' Instead, he said, "Not on a ship this size, no" in a very controlled monotone voice.

England nodded again. "Alright, well then feel free to stay in here as much as you'd like. You're also free to roam the top deck. Preferably don't go below deck - the men don't know you after all. We should be arriving in Charles Town sometime tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay, thank you," Alfred said, stretching his left arm across his chest and digging his nails into his arm to stop himself from saying something like 'Oh, I'm free to stay in here? I'm free to do anything, fuck you.'

"Alright, then," England said, rising. "They're probably looking for me. If you need anything, let me know."

Alfred nodded and watched as the other man left the cabin, thinking to himself that he was going to have to have a serious discussion with Arthur.

Alfred rolled his shoulders and neck and noticed that on the chest next to the bed there was an old shirt laid out. Alfred slipped it on over his head, unable to wear the bloody t-shirt he had yesterday. It struck him as comical and he laughed for a second at the look of this flowing dingy white shirt over his jeans and tennis shoes.

Using the remains of his t-shirt, Alfred rebandaged the wound on his side and then strode out of the cabin feeling like he was going to a costume party only half-dressed. No longer shielded by the walls of the cabin, the wind whipped around him and tousled his wheat blonde hair.

The crew was busy at work guiding the ship on her voyage home. Alfred found it incredibly intriguing and for a moment had an extreme sense of deja vu. He shook it off and walked out onto the deck. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but miles of blue water and sky. It was breathtaking. Alfred heard a familiar laugh from ahead of him and looked up to see Arthur - not past England, but Arthur - leaning out over the edge of the railing holding onto a rope and laughing as the saltwater hit his face. No longer in his sweater vest, but still in his button-up and slacks, he looked very out of place. But he also looked very happy.

"Wow," Alfred said, before realizing he'd said it.

Hearing the voice of the younger made Arthur tense up and hop down off the railing. "America," he said, voice trying to regain dignity. "Good afternoon, we decided to let you sleep through the morning due to the draught and the injury."

"I almost always sleep through the morning, you're good," Alfred said, watching as Arthur tried frantically to smooth down his clothes.

"Does that shirt fit okay? It was an extra onboard."

"I think so," Alfred said, looking down. He would have worn something very different during this time and he wasn't entirely sure how this was supposed to look.

Arthur examined him for a moment and nodded. "It'll have to do until we make port. We'll obviously have to get some clothes, we can't wear what we have. We'll stand out."

Alfred nodded. "Makes sense." He chewed on the inside of his cheek, deciding if now was the time to do this before realizing that there was no time better. "And by the way, _Great Britain_," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe next time you and your twin come talk to _me_ before you start making decisions involving me. I know that was never really your thing."

Arthur was shocked. And angry. "Are you talking about us discussing your sailing ability? Or lack of it, rather. That's hardly something to get so upset about," he said, trying to brush the matter aside.

Alfred clenched his hands into fists and felt a distant but familiar rebellious anger in the pit of his stomach. "Don't talk about me when I'm not there. You don't get to decide where I can or can't go or what I'm good at or not."

"Oh, you mean like how yesterday I didn't make any sort of call about your sword fighting ability and you almost got yourself killed?"

"You said yourself it wasn't that deep!" Alfred shot back, getting angrier and angrier with the other nation.

"America, what would you have done if I hadn't been there?" Arthur asked, condescending.

Alfred's nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw before he took a series of short, angry breaths and said, "I've figured out everything else without you for the past two hundred and fifty years. Why should that have been any different?"

Arthur stepped closer to the younger nation, not afraid of him despite size and height. "Careful, boy."

"Don't call me 'boy'," Alfred growled back to him. By this point, some of the men had gathered around them, interested in the argument and what could go down. Arthur noticed them and grabbed Alfred's arm.

"Come on," he said, pulling him in the direction of the Captain's Quarters.

Alfred yanked his arm out of the other man's hand. "No! Fuck you! What is wrong with you?"

Arthur came back and spoke in a hissed whisper. "We don't need other people to see this. Look, we just have to get back to our time, alright? And then you never have to talk to me outside of meetings ever again."

"Good, I won't," Alfred said and turning on his heel, stalked to the bow of the ship with Arthur staring after him.

On the mainland, a little boy ran frantically about his lovely home. He was trying to make sure everything was in perfect order for him to sneak out tomorrow to pick up his perfect surprise. He had to make sure that he could time it correctly to slip away without anyone noticing.

As far as he could tell, all of the maids were usually washing linens at around two o'clock. The butler and the cooks were preparing dinner starting around 2:30. The little boy finished his lessons around one every day, still being very young, and so his tutor left around 1:15. That meant that at 2:40 was the perfect time to slip out of the house, run into town, and go to the market tomorrow.

The little boy ran up to his room followed by a call of "Please! No running! You know how Mister Kirkland feels about you running in the house!" to which he responded with a polite but rushed "I am quite sorry!"

Upon entering his room, the boy dug in his toy chest to find his little purse with money in it. He had done such work to earn this money, and he had saved it for some time now. He had had to pay half when he had placed the order, and tomorrow he would pay the rest.

The little boy smiled to himself, missing one of his two front teeth. He put his purse under his mattress so he would have faster access to it tomorrow. Then, on quiet feet, he slipped out of his bedroom and gently into the bedroom across the hall, one that had not been used for some months now.

He walked over to the chair in the corner and picked up the shirt that was still hanging on it and crawled into the large bed in the center of the room. He knew it was still going to be a few weeks before Iggy got home, and Alfred missed him so bad. But he was happy to know that Iggy was doing his duty as an empire and a gentleman and that Alfred was going to be able to buy him a nice surprise to show him his gratitude for being the best big brother ever.


	4. Chapter 4: An Encounter

**Good morning and welcome back to my fun little time travel fic! Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, or reviewed! It means more to me than I can express in this brief author's note. In this chapter, we get our first interactions with sweet baby America. To avoid confusion, all non-dialogue text will refer to him as America and present-day America as Alfred. Note: Present-day America and Present-Day England call each other "America" and "England" most of the time. In the exact opposite, 1685 England and 1685 America are going to call each other "Arthur" and "Alfred" most of the time. I'm hoping this isn't too confusing. I'm sorry if it is! Thank you for reading! Please leave a review!**

Chapter Four: An Encounter

The ship, now flying an English flag instead of the skull and crossbones, docked in Charles Town around noon, a few hours earlier than expected. Alfred and Arthur were refusing to talk to one another, something that had not gone unnoticed by England, who wondered what could have possibly happened to the two.

"Alright," England said, turning to face the two. He was dressed very differently than he had been the past few days onboard. He now wore buckled shoes, a dark green vest, and a fine brown coat despite the summer heat. His hair was still as wild as it ever was, but there was an obvious attempt to tame it. This was the England Alfred remembered, and he often found it hard to look away from him.

Next to him, Arthur was in one of England's other outfits because "we can't both look so completely out of sorts, no one will sell anything to us." Arthur was wearing an older brown coat with a brown vest and the brown boots England had worn on board. His hair was also being pushed back. He also looked like the England Alfred remembered, and it made him feel very awkward.

"This is where I leave you, for now," England said, having already given them a certain amount of money to buy more clothing. "I have sent a man to procure a room for you at the Church Street Inn. I'll meet you there tomorrow morning to head back to my house."

"Alright, sounds delightful," Arthur said, nodding. "We will meet you there tomorrow morning."

"Yes, _we _will," Alfred said assertively. "Thank you," he added.

With a slight nod, England left to go handle official business as an empire and a gentleman. Standing behind him on the dock were Arthur in clothes he hadn't worn in three hundred and fifty years and Alfred in an old dingy shirt and blue jeans.

"Alright come-" Arthur started but was cut off by Alfred.

"Come on, then," he said, petty, rushing to beat Arthur to say the phrase. Alfred walked off the dock and turned to the right continuing to stomp on until he realized that Arthur was not behind him. He turned to see Arthur at the end of the dock with his arms crossed and a triumphant expression on his face. "What?" Alfred demanded.

"We went _that _way to buy _your _clothes," he said, smiling. "Not mine. And I think you'll find you won't be able to wear clothes from there anymore. That seamstress specialized in children's clothes."

"Shut up," Alfred said, walking back across the dock and past Arthur. Arthur laughed and followed him down the cobbled stone streets of Charles Town under the hot summer sun.

They left having bought clothes that they could take out of the store. As Arthur had been a regular customer at the time, there were already some clothes made to his size specifications. However, Alfred had to buy some long, loose-fitting garments that would have looked very good had they been allowed to be tailored. Instead, they just made Alfred look even younger than he actually was.

Alfred now wore a long blue coat which he had purchased with a pointed look at Arthur. It was the only part of his ensemble that fit well, and Arthur hated that. He wore a brown vest that was much too big over a new cleaner shirt and brown pants with black buckled shoes.

The majority of the clothing they were having sent to the house, except for the clothes Alfred was wearing and a long black cloak Arthur insisted on carrying with him. Alfred was insistent upon not speaking to Arthur but the longer they walked the more he kept looking between the cloak and Arthur. "Fuck, fine," he groaned.

"What?" Arthur asked, surprised by the sudden outburst.

"Why the cloak? Why? It's August in South _fucking_ Carolina. Why the hell would you need a cloak?"

Arthur looked at him, confused for a moment before he began to smile and then laugh. "Is it really bothering you that much?"

"Yes! You don't need it! You didn't need to buy it!"

Arthur held it and shrugged, ready to continue bantering when Alfred stopped walking. "What?" he asked, following Alfred's line of sight. There in front of Alfred was a small blonde boy walking carefully through the streets, holding a package in his hands as if it were the most precious thing he had ever encountered.

The sight of the boy almost brought Arthur to his knees and brought tears to his eyes. "My God," he whispered.

Close behind the boy, there was a group of men walking and talking loudly. Alfred jerked back out of his reverie. "That's them! That's the men! Today's the day!" he said, so excited that he forgot he was mad at Arthur for a moment and grabbed his shoulder.

"Well, let's go, then," Arthur said, waiting until the men were an appropriate distance away. "After all, this is the entire reason we're here."

Arthur walked in long strides down the road with Alfred stumbling after him. For the majority of the walk, the two were completely silent. They were such a distance back that when the road became a dirt path surrounded by trees, little America had already hidden. Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm again. "Hold on, wait," he looked around for a moment. "I'm right there," he said, pointing to a bush about thirty yards in front of them and fifteen yards in front of the men. "It should happen like any second now," Alfred said, bracing himself and watching as the men walked right past his hiding spot and continued without any interaction. Alfred stood up straight. "Wait what?" he asked. "That's not what happened!"

Arthur watched the scene with a thoughtful expression before turning to look at Alfred. "Go, you'll have to do it."

"Stop volunteering me for things! You can't tell me what to do!" Alfred started, causing Arthur to roll his eyes when Alfred added, "I'll have to do what?"

"Well, none of those men bothered you. You remember that they did. So someone did. Go do it." Arthur stated, calmly and matter-of-fact, as if he were talking through an equation.

Alfred looked almost offended. "This gave me nightmares when I was little. I am not going to do it."

"Fine," Arthur said, leaning back against a tree. "But now you _are_ changing the timeline so…"

"Are you trying to tell me that if I don't go give myself nightmares I could potentially lose the Revolutionary War?" Alfred asked, exasperated.

"I don't know for sure, probably not, but potentially," Arthur said. "Which is fine by me, so please, don't talk to him." If looks could kill, Arthur would have been dead. "Not to mention, if he isn't bothered then he takes the shaving kit with him and then we have no reason for being here because you wouldn't need to remember this. It would create a paradox. And who knows what that would do to us?"

Alfred continued staring a hole through Arthur before he threw his arms down and looked away. "Why can't you do it?" Alfred whined.

"Think for a moment, I know that's hard for you. But please, for a moment, just think."

"He would recognize you. Fuck!" Alfred yelled. He looked down the path where the men were disappearing behind the corner. He squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw. "Give me that fucking cloak," he said, ripping the fabric out of Arthur's hands. He tied it around his neck and pulled the hood up over his eyes. "One last thing," Alfred said, completely in a British accent. "How does this sound?"

Arthur was completely taken aback for a moment by the sound of Alfred speaking in such a good replication of his own accent. "Surprisingly good," Arthur said after a moment. "Why are you doing it though?"

Alfred cocked an eyebrow and said in a mocking imitation of what Arthur had just said - British accent and all - "Think for a moment, I know that's hard for you. But please, for a moment, just think," Arthur opened his mouth as if to say something angry in response but Alfred cut him off before he could even begin with an explanation. "He may not recognize me now, but if I meet him tomorrow after I've done this he'll be scared and it'll probably make like old you mad." Arthur shrugged. Alfred had a valid point, for once.

Alfred stared at Arthur for a moment longer before turning around to talk to his younger self. "Oi! You there!" Alfred yelled loudly in his best impression of Arthur. America jumped and spun around, blue eyes wide and fearful.

"Uh, yes, sir?" the little boy squeaked out. Arthur felt his heart clench. If he thought he could've cried before, that didn't even compare to hearing America's voice and seeing the scared expression on his face. Arthur just wanted to walk out there, scoop the boy up, and take him home.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" Alfred demanded. _I hate this I hate this I hate this_ he thought, looking down at himself. It was uncomfortable and surreal and made Alfred feel like he was dreaming or maybe dead. _Honestly, maybe I'm in Hell. _

"I," the little boy started, looking down at his feet and back up. "I was just going for a walk."

"Going for a walk, huh?" Alfred said, not even having to think about what to say. He remembered well enough what had been said to him that he could just repeat it. _Okay, I know Iggy said it was okay, but I've watched Back to the Future enough times to know that this feels kinda fucky. _

America smiled largely and nodded. "Yep! A walk! And then I saw a cat in a tree over there," the boy said, an obvious liar. "And so I had to run off the path to save it!" He nodded his head, looking very proud of himself.

Alfred tilted his head down further, hiding his face from his younger self the best he could. "Liar," he said, coldly as he could manage. America's face fell. "Aren't you Arthur Kirkland's boy?" he asked, mentally screaming because those words had left his mouth. _This is the worst day of my life, and I've had some really fucking bad days. _

America nodded, eyes widening even more. "Yes, sir."

"How do you think Mr. Kirkland would feel about you lying and sneaking out on the staff and hiding around here all on your own?" Alfred demanded, knowing exactly what the young boy had just done. _Mr. Kirkland? _Alfred thought to himself. _I am NEVER saying that again. _

"He wouldn't like it," the boy mumbled.

"No, he wouldn't," Alfred stated firmly. "You should go home now."

"I will," America said, eyes darting to the bush he had just been hidden in. "Promise."

Alfred took a deep breath. What he was about to do felt uber-creepy and the last thing he wanted to do was creep on little past him. "Well, go on then. I'm watching," he said.

America's face became scared. "What?"

"I'm going to watch you get home. How could I trust you? Go."

America turned around and began walking. Once he was about ten yards ahead, Alfred began to follow him. Up ahead, the little boy had tears in his eyes and his hands clenched in firsts. He was humiliated. First, he was having to march home in front of this stranger, and second, he had to leave his present for Iggy behind! He would have to sneak out again tomorrow now!

They walked up to a decent-sized home about a mile outside of the town. Trees were surrounding the road up to the door and there was a decent garden in front of the home with flowers of all kinds. America turned around to see Alfred leaning on a tree at the end of the road. Alfred was so caught up in staring at the house that he almost forgot what he was doing. "Uh, go in, then," he said, accidentally dropping the British accent.

America gave him one last long look, twisted his face into a pout, and ran inside the house with tears streaming down his little face. Once inside, he would run up to Arthur's room and climb into his bed and cry. Alfred knew that because he remembered it. Arthur's room had been one of his favorite places. It was where he felt closest to Arthur when he wasn't there. Nothing could hurt him if he was in Arthur's room.

Alfred stayed for a moment, leaning on the tree and looking up at the house that had once been his home before turning around and walking back to meet Arthur about five hundred feet back.

Alfred slid the cloak off of him and handed it back to its owner. "I hated that," Alfred said, calmly, and walked on ahead in front of Arthur back towards Charles Town.

There was an obvious change in Alfred's demeanor that had Arthur concerned, even if they were supposed to be fighting right now. "Is everything alright?"

"Just shut up, dude," Alfred said, walking on ahead of Arthur, notably taking a different walking path back into town. "I just want to go home," he said tiredly, unaware if he meant back to his home in Washington D.C. in 2020 or if he meant back to a time when the word was wide, possibilities were endless, and Arthur's bedroom was the safest place on earth.


	5. Chapter 5: A Reunion

**Hello everyone! I'm sorry that I've taken so long to post this next chapter. I am in my final semester of college and it has been hellish this last week and a half. Not a whole lot happens in this chapter but I hope that you enjoy it anyway. I'm getting ready to amp some things up in this fic and I'm excited. I have some ideas that I'm not certain on yet, we'll see. But for now, I'm very happy with where this fic is. This is something that has been in my head so long that seeing it typed is an exhilarating experience. It's even more exhilarating to see people reading it. So thank you. Thank you for your time. Thank you for your favorites and follows. Thank you for your reviews. I truly cannot express how much it means to me. **

Chapter Five: A Reunion

True to his word, England met Alfred and Arthur at nine in the morning the next day at the Church Street Inn. Neither had slept well the night before. Arthur had been consumed with thoughts of Alfred telling him that when they were back he would never speak to him again, and Alfred was filled with guilt about what he had done and a nostalgia for a time he wished he didn't miss.

"Good morning, gentlemen," England said to them. "How are you this morning?"

"Splendid, thank you," Arthur answered, only slightly sarcastic.

"Fine," Alfred answered, tired and a little grumpy.

"Alright, then, I have a carriage out front to take us to the house," England said, turning around and leading the way. "Upon arriving, I will go inside, pay the staff, and send them away. Then I will put some tea on and talk to my boy," he paused and turned to look at Alfred. "I've already said this to my future self, but I think it would be better if I explained it to Alfred and then you all came in so as not to confuse him. Don't you agree?"

Alfred thought it had been a rhetorical question, but seeing the look on England's face he realized that he was actually asking for Alfred's opinion. "Uh, yeah," he answered. "He'll get it, I think, but yeah, just you is probably better."

The ride to the house was comfortable. The carriage bumped and jostled, but for the time, it was a pretty smooth ride. England tried to play the proper host and would make small talk about the things in the city and would ask vague questions that would get vague answers about how things were when Alfred and Arthur were from.

Upon arriving at the house, all three men exited the carriage. "Alright," England said. "Feel free to roam the grounds, I'm sure you remember them," he said, brow furrowing as he thought about this situation and wondered again how he was going to explain this to the little boy inside.

England turned around and walked up to the door. He took a deep breath, smiled, and pushed it open. From inside a maid yelled, shocked, "Why, Mr. Kirkland! You're home!" which was followed by the sound of frantic running and a tiny voice yelling "IGGY! You're home early!" Alfred and Arthur watched as England's frame shook as he absorbed the shock of the little boy jumping into his arms. "I'm so glad you're home!" America said, head buried in England's neck as he cried happy tears. The boy's voice still had a tint of an English accent and it made Arthur's heart squeeze painfully to hear him speak.

"I am as well," England said, closing the door behind him.

The shutting of the door caused Alfred to jump and made Arthur shake his head as both snapped out of the state they had been in watching the exchange. They both looked at each other for a long moment before Alfred turned away and walked off in the direction of a small lake at the edge of the property. Arthur knew exactly where he was heading because it had been one of Alfred's favorite places when he was young.

Arthur watched Alfred walk away until he could only barely make him out skipping rocks down on the bank of the lake. Arthur sighed and headed towards the garden where there was a stone bench. At this time the bench was still fairly new. Arthur sat down, feeling his age and his actions weighing on him. The more he thought about it, the more he needed a drink.

Arthur took a deep breath and looked around. In his mind, he could see Alfred running around the grounds when he was young, frantically searching for some imaginary location he had made up. He could see Alfred running in the rain and jumping in puddles despite Arthur's pleas for him to not do that and the later scolding that would accompany such actions. He could see Alfred storming out and slamming the door of a different house farther north, running into the yard and turning towards the building to yell about how unfair his life was. He could see Alfred telling him there was going to be a war. He could see Alfred in a blue coat in the rain.

Arthur shook his head when something wet hit his face. Was it starting to rain now? He looked up at the stunning blue sky and was surprised when the water continued down his cheeks before he realized he was crying. Yes, he definitely needed a drink.

Alfred stood down on the banks of the lake skipping rocks. When was the last time he had done this? It seemed like he never had time anymore for stuff like this. In a way being here was nice. It was nice to have a break from all the responsibilities. As much as Alfred said he would never "unplug" being here made him reconsider. It was nice to not have a constant ding from his cell phone alerting him of a new text message or email or another meeting reminder or a Facebook notification.

It was also sad being here now. Arthur was acting weird, all high and mighty. Alfred couldn't help but think it was because they were in the Empire Days now. Maybe the exchange on the ship had been a bit much. It wasn't that Alfred _really _never wanted to talk to him again, but he wouldn't mind an apology. But Alfred thought he knew Arthur pretty well. Arthur wasn't going to apologize to him. Hell, half the time he couldn't stand him. So what was the point?

Alfred heard sounds from the house and glanced up to see the staff leaving, smiling and laughing. They were probably glad to have been paid. Alfred turned back to the lake and sighed. Being here really was a strange and terrible reminder of what had been. If he was being honest, it made him sad for his short childhood.

And, if he was still being honest, he was a little worried about how Arthur might react when they made it in the house and he saw little America. He knew Arthur didn't always handle things well, especially when they came to him. Who knew what the older man may do?

Someone was approaching behind him and he turned to see it was Arthur. When he recognized that it was modern Arthur, he quickly jumped to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, hoping to appear as if he hadn't just been thinking about him. Arthur was looking up into the trees overhead, his eyes appeared a little red but Alfred couldn't tell for sure because Arthur refused to make eye contact with him.

"Yeah?" Alfred said, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"We've been called to the house," Arthur answered, voice quiet, still not looking at Alfred.

"Cool," Alfred said, trying to ignore the fact that now Arthur wouldn't even _look_ at him and how badly that hurt. Alfred took a deep breath and walked by Arthur, making sure to hit his shoulder. "Let's go then."

Alfred stalked up to the house with Arthur a few steps behind him. He immediately felt a little bit bad about shoulder checking Arthur a moment ago, but Arthur wouldn't even _look _at him. So, really, it was Arthur's fault.

They arrived at the door to find England standing in the doorway. Behind him, a pair of bright blue eyes peeked out from behind his legs. England looked lovingly down on the little boy as he gently guided him to stand in front of him. "Alfred," he said, and Alfred unintentionally looked up at him before realizing he wasn't being talked to. "This is me from the future, and this," he said, angling the boy to look at Alfred, "is you."

America's eyes widened and he seemed to forget his momentary shyness as he stepped closer to Alfred. "Wow!" the little boy said, looking up at Alfred and making him feel slightly uncomfortable. "You're so tall!" He turned back to look at England. "I'm so tall!"

England nodded. "Yes, he is quite tall. But, Alfred, don't be rude," he said, nodding towards the two men.

America turned back around. "Right! I'm sorry! My name is Alfred Kirkland!" He stuck out his little hand to shake both of theirs. "Nice to meet you!"

Arthur shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said softly, his voice sad.

"Nice to meet ya, little dude," Alfred said awkwardly. _What kind of trippy bullshit is happening right now? Is this how Iggy has felt for like a week now? God and they're like the same age? So like? How is he doing it? _

"Why don't you come in?" England said, holding his arm out and allowing Arthur and Alfred to step back into a memory. The house seemed smaller than Alfred remembered it. In his head, it was a massive building with no end, but really it was just a house. To Arthur, it was exactly as he expected.

England led them to a drawing-room where he had set up a nice porcelain tea set, painted with delicate pink flowers. England sat in a high back chair and gestured towards the small couch which Alfred and Arthur sat on together. America was sitting on the floor at England's feet. He was so excited, normally he wasn't allowed to stay for tea with grown-ups but today he was. And these weren't just any grown-ups. It was Iggy and it was _him _but big and tall and strong.

England began preparing three cups of tea when he looked up. "Do you take your tea the same way?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur nodded. "That would be lovely."

England prepared it and handed it to the man before looking at Alfred. "And how do you take yours?"

Alfred opened his mouth to respond before he realized he honestly didn't know. He only ever had tea at Arthur's house and Arthur always prepared it for him. He looked quickly over at Arthur and was mortified to see Arthur was watching him. God, this was so embarrassing.

Arthur sighed. "Give him what you gave me, but double the sugar you put in it." Alfred could feel his face heating up. He was embarrassed and a little angry. He didn't need Arthur to speak for him. But he also had no idea how he would like the tea. As far as he was concerned, tea was only good for dumping in harbors, but he also didn't want to be rude especially when he was trying to get home and concealing so much about the revolution.

England raised an eyebrow before he nodded and did what had been told to him. Alfred took the cup and sipped at the tea. It was exactly how he liked it at Arthur's house and that made him a little mad.

The silence in the room was overwhelming. No one was talking. The only noise came from the clinking of the teacups on the table and the floor creaking under America who was so absolutely excited that he couldn't stop bouncing up and down. He kept glancing around at the room at all the faces in front of him. This had to be the coolest thing that had ever happened to anyone ever.

"Alfred," England whispered, stern but not harshly.

"Oh, sorry," America said, no longer bouncing. He sat as still as he could. It broke Arthur's heart. If the boy wanted to bounce, let him bounce. What Arthur wouldn't give to be able to go back and see Alfred so young and energetic and happy. Hell, he would let him do anything he wanted to.

Alfred sat next to Arthur, leg bouncing almost obnoxiously. He was picking at his fingernails, a nervous habit he had picked up sometime shortly before the Revolution. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he did know that if they were going to be here for a while he may seriously be in trouble. Honestly, there was a good deal of culture shock that came with being an adult at this time when he had spent it as a child.

The rest of the time consisted of awkward small talk. As the night drew to a close, England stood up. He was holding America who had been so excited that he was now crashing hard from it. His eyelids were drooping but he was fighting so hard to stay awake.

"How about in the morning we begin to discuss how to get you home?" he asked. "As for tonight, I have had rooms prepared for both of you." Alfred was confused. As far as he could remember, this was a three-bedroom house. England turned to Arthur. "I've put you in the guest room." Then he turned to Alfred. "I hope you don't mind," he started and Alfred was scared for a moment that he expected him to share a room with Arthur. "But I've put you in Alfred's - well, I suppose your old room. I'll just keep Alfred with me."

"Oh," Alfred said, relieved but also a little uneasy. "That's… That's fine, thanks."

England gave him a small smile. "Well, I'm going to take him to bed. I'll see you both in the morning."

England bid them goodnight and walked up the stairs and out of sight, leaving Alfred and Arthur alone in the drawing-room.

If they thought the silence had been deafening before, nothing compared to this. Alfred was still picking at his fingernails. Arthur hated that, he knew he only did it when he was nervous. Although, according to Alfred he never got nervous. Arthur knew that wasn't true. Alfred's hero act may work on everyone else, but never on him. "Al-," Arthur started, but caught himself. They weren't close enough anymore for that, but it still caused the Americans head to snap up. "America," Arthur said, correcting himself. _The last thing I want to do is upset the boy anymore. _

"Yeah?" Alfred asked, voice a little rough. When Arthur didn't answer immediately, Alfred spoke again. "What do you fucking want, dude?"

_How absolutely rude. _Whatever Arthur had been planning to say went out the window. He wasn't going to be talked to this way. He stood up, straightened out his clothes slowly and turned towards the stairs. Without looking at Alfred he said, "Do make yourself useful for once in your life tomorrow and stay the hell out of my way."

Alfred stood up quickly. "Aw, fuck you, England."

Arthur turned, rapidly in Alfred's face. "Lower your voice. You don't want them to hear us, you fucking imbecile."

Alfred clenched his jaw. Arthur was right. He needed to take a moment to lower his voice before he said back "I _hate_ you, you know that right?"

He watched Arthur tense up like ice water had been dumped on him. "Yes," Arthur replied. "You've made that quite clear." With that, Arthur turned, walked over to a cabinet and opened it, took a bottle of brandy, and walked up the stairs.

Well, now Alfred regretted saying it. "Where are you going?" he asked, confused. He had thought Arthur would fight with him. He had thought Arthur would tell him he hated him too, that they would yell back.

"Good night, America," Arthur said at the top of the stairs, throwing back the bottle. Alfred watched as Arthur disappeared into the guest room at the end of the hallway.

Alfred slumped back into the couch. He didn't _really_ hate Arthur, of course. He wanted things to be normal with Arthur. He wanted things to be maybe better than normal? He wanted to be able to talk to Arthur. He wanted to be able to ask Arthur for her help. Whatever. He didn't need Arthur. He hadn't needed Arthur for almost 250 years. Whatever.

He sighed loudly and stood up, dragging his heels to the bedroom he used to stay in every night. He paused outside the door before opening it and disappearing inside. He was completely unaware of a little set of eyes that had watched the end of their exchange and heard every word.


	6. Chapter 6: An Evening

**Welcome back to my story. I'm sorry I've been gone so long. Like I said last time - this final semester of college is absolute hell. This may not be the best chapter ever written. I'm not entirely sure it's cohesive considering I wrote it over like a month. But enjoy it anyway. Who knows? I may decide I hate it and take it down and redo. But for now, this is what we got. So enjoy it for what it's worth and if I decide to scrap it at least you got to see my thought process! Enjoy.**

Chapter Six: An Evening

Arthur heard Alfred's heavy footsteps and the soft opening and closing of the bedroom door as he disappeared inside of it. _Damn Yankee. _Alfred hated him. That was fine. He knew that. He had known that for a long time. How many times would they have to discuss this? When they got back to the present, Arthur would leave the boy alone. He would stop bothering him after meetings and around holidays. Alfred didn't need him? Fine. He didn't need Alfred either.

He took a long drink of the brandy he had grabbed. Alfred didn't need him. Fine. It was fine. Finefinefinefine _fine. _Alfred hated him. Not fine. Not fine at all. Not even a little bit fine. But it had to be, and so it would be. He had watched Alfred struggle on his own before, he could do it again.

He took another long drink off the bottle, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. Sometimes he wished he had never met Alfred at all. _No, that's not true_ the logical voice in his head said. _You don't wish that at all. _"What do you know?" Arthur whispered aloud in response to his thoughts before laying down and trying to sleep, not drunk enough to pass out.

Alfred was leaning against the doorframe. He hadn't brought a candle with him but in the moonlight he could still make out the distinct shapes of the room. Drawers for his clothes, a chest full of toys, a large bed pressed in the back corner against a window. Alfred looked around for a moment before becoming startlingly overwhelmed. He slid down the door frame until he was sitting on the ground next to the door, staring around the darkened room. Tears began to run silently down his face. He didn't want to be here.

The door began to open slowly. Alfred was sure it was Arthur, drunk. He was either coming to apologize or to yell at him. Alfred rubbed his face quickly, not wanting Arthur to see him crying either way.

"Hey, England-" Alfred started to say, turning and looking up before stopping because no one was standing there. He brought his eyes slowly down and found himself looking into identical blue ones. "Uh, hey, little dude. What's up?" America walked into the room and shut the door behind him. "Did you forget something? Do you need something?"

America shook his head and sat down next to Alfred on the floor, crossing his legs in front of him and looking down at the ground. His fists were clenched tightly and he looked both angry and sad.

"What's… what's up?" Alfred repeated, unsure of how to handle children.

"Why did you talk to Arthur like that?" America whispered, voice angry and scared.

Alfred sat up straighter. "You heard that?"

America nodded, still not looking up from the floor. "I heard. I heard you say some really mean words to him. I heard you say you hated him. I heard him call you mean names. So tell me why would you say that?" With each word, America got a little bit louder and his voice got a little bit shakier until he was crying. With tears running down his face, America threw himself against Alfred and wrapped his arms around him. Alfred sat surprised and uncomfortable for a moment before putting his arm around the younger boy in a half-hug.

Now Alfred really didn't know what to do. He was still so much of a kid himself that anytime he dealt with children it seemed like he was missing the mark. His first thought was to go get England. But then he realized he would have to talk to England about what went down between him and Arthur. His second thought was to go get Arthur, but he really didn't want to admit he needed help. So he settled on Plan C. He would take care of this himself like he always took care of everything.

"It's all good, little dude," he said, awkwardly patting the boy's back.

"No!" America yelled, pulling back. "No, it isn't!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Alfred said, looking up at the door. "Be quiet! Do you want them to hear us?" he hissed, feeling similar to the way he felt when Arthur used to catch him up late. He supposed it was similar actually.

Big fat tears were rolling down America's cheeks. "How could you hate Iggy?"

Alfred sighed. "I don't."

"You said you did!"

Alfred shook his head and leaned back against the door frame. He pulled the hand that wasn't wrapped around America down across his face. It reminded America of something he saw England do when he was upset. "I know I said it, but I don't hate him."

"Then why would you say it?" America whispered back.

"I don't know. I wanted to make him mad."

"Why would you _want_ to make him mad?"

Alfred looked down at the boy. "You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" America frowned at him. Alfred sighed again. "I don't know. I think maybe if he's mad I feel like he cares? Like, little dude, things are _not _the same between me and him as they are between like you and him. He did some stuff to me, and I did some stuff back to him, and then he did some more stuff, and then I _saved his ass_. But that's not important. Not really. What I'm saying is, now he doesn't care about me anymore. But if I can make him mad enough, I can pretend he still cares."

Outside the door, Arthur paused. He had been planning to tell Alfred to shut the hell up and go to sleep. Maybe across the hall England couldn't hear him, but Arthur could next door. He hadn't realized America was in there with him. He definitely didn't know what they were talking about. Did Alfred really think he didn't care anymore?

Arthur sank to where his back was against the wall and his ear against the door and listened to what Alfred had to say.

"Of course he still cares about you," America said with a yawn. "It's _Iggy_. So he has to love you."

"No, he really doesn't have to," Alfred said, sounding empty. Arthur heard him backtrack. "I mean like, of course, your Iggy loves you. Like no worries there, bro, he thinks you're the bomb. But uh, no, I don't think Iggy cares about me at all. Honestly," Alfred was starting to get choked up. "He probably wishes he never found me, or that I was never born at all. Or that I would just dissolve and-"

He was interrupted by the door opening. They both looked up, shocked to see Arthur. Alfred felt his stomach drop. How much had he heard? Arthur looked between the two before settling on America. He crouched down in front of the boy. "Hello, Alfred," he said, smiling even though he was still a little drunk.

America bowed at him and looked at him through his eyelashes. "Hi," he said, knowing he had been caught.

"Alfred, what time is it?"

"Late."

"And where should you be?"

"In bed," the little boy answered, knowing what answers he was supposed to be providing. This was a conversation he had had with England on several occasions before, and as he watched, Alfred realized that. He remembered having a conversation just like this one many a time.

"You should probably go then," Arthur said, smiling gently. "You wouldn't want him to wake up and find you missing, would you?" he asked with a gesture towards the bedroom across the hall.

America shook his head. "No, sir."

"There's a good lad," he said with a small smile. "Go on, then."

America nodded. "Okay," he said and looked over at Alfred. "Good night," he said, his eyes almost sympathetic because they had both been caught after all.

"Good night, little dude," Alfred said.

"Good night," America said again, this time to Arthur before he slipped out the door and across the hall.

"Good night, Alfred," Arthur responded, watching him go.

For a moment, the two from the future sat in a heavy silence. Alfred was staring at Arthur, but Arthur continued to stare across the hallway. Alfred thought Arthur might not even talk about it. He was drunk, he was just annoyed to hear talking. He didn't actually hear anything specific. He would go back to bed.

Then slowly Arthur closed the door and turned to Alfred, who was still sitting on the floor. "Now you," he said, voice harsh and raw. "Alfred Foster Kir- Jones, whatever the hell you call yourself." Alfred stiffened, it had been a long long time since Arthur had used his full name on him. "You and I are going to talk."

"What?" Alfred asked, confused.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "You. And I. Are going. To. Talk," he repeated, emphasizing what he said. "How _dare _you talk about our history with that little boy? And furthermore, how dar-"

"England, he heard-" Alfred started, but was cut off.

"I wasn't finished," Arthur hissed. "How dare you try to say I don't care about you."

Alfred paused for a moment. Arthur was seething. His nostrils were flaring and his face was flushed. "You're going to try to tell me you do...?" Alfred asked, trailing off, looking at Arthur like he was crazy.

"Of course I do, you arrogant yank."

Alfred looked at him again. "You're drunk," he said, rising to his feet. "Go back to bed, England." He turned towards the bed but was shocked when Arthur grabbed his arm.

"I said I wasn't finished," Arthur said, calmer this time. "Alfred, sit down and listen to me."

Alfred began to feel flustered. Why was Arthur trying to have this conversation with him here and now while he was drunk? Arthur was either going to get angry or weepy. It would get Alfred all up in his feelings either way, and Arthur wouldn't remember it in the morning.

"Why should I?" he demanded. He was clenching his fists and trying not to get more upset. He hated it when Arthur drank. He hated it. Why couldn't he leave him alone?

"You think I hate you."

"I know you hate me."

"You don't know anything!" Arthur yelled, getting louder. So angry drunk Arthur it was then.

"Hey!" Alfred frantically whispered, walking closer to the other man. "Do you want to wake them up? You get mad at me for fucking talking to little me, but you're going to yell and wake them up? For real?" He had started now and he wasn't going to stop. "And you know what, _Arthur_," he said, letting the name pass between his lips for the first time since the early 1770s, "you've been calling me Alfred a hell of a lot lately for someone who really doesn't have the right to."

"I gave you that na-"

"I wasn't finished yet! Mattie calls me Alfred, that's it. You know Mattie - Matthew - Canada. My brother who you took from France and then made _fight me._" Alfred really was on a roll now. He didn't care about the noise, he didn't care about anything. "And you have the fucking nerve to come tell me you don't hate me? I know you hate me! You can't stand that I'm able to handle things myself! You can't stand that I'm actually doing okay!" Oh no, he had accidentally crossed a tipping point and now he was tearing up. "And would it kill you to be a little fucking proud of me? Would it? God, Arthur, I know we fought in a war, I know that! Okay! Did that really make me so dead to you? You said like last fucking week that you used to think of me as a son, right? Did the Revolution change that much for you? Why can't you be even the littlest bit proud of me, huh?"

Alfred had to stop and turn away because he felt that he was about to cry, and he didn't want Arthur to see that. It was quiet for so long that Alfred thought Arthur had left or passed out one. "I am proud of you." Alfred's head jerked up and he turned around but only saw the bedroom door closing as Arthur left.

The next morning, Alfred sat at the dining room table with England and America, head down as he stared at his plate. He had been in a mood since last night and he hadn't slept well. America kept looking across the table at him, and Alfred didn't want to and wouldn't meet his gaze. The silence around the table was deafening and Alfred could feel England looking at him as well.

Alfred cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about England. I don't know what would cause him to sleep in like this." Although he did know. Of course.

"It's hardly your fault," England said, returning to his meal, satisfied that Alfred had spoken.

_It is my fault though. _Alfred thought, beginning to eat.

There was a creaking from the next room and then a squeaking as the door to the dining room opened. Arthur walked into the room, holding his head. He sat down at the table. "I apologize for my absence," he said.

After breakfast, Alfred kept staring at him trying to gauge if he remembered anything. "Did you mean what you said last night?" Alfred asked.

"When I said to stay out of my way?"

"No, later."

"Oh. America, I was drunk, I don't even remember what I said," he sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sorry if I said something out of line, lad."

_So he doesn't remember then. _Alfred just nodded and turned to walk away. "It's all good, bro, don't worry," he said, walking out of the room.

Arthur watched him walk away before slowly setting himself down in a chair. "Of course I'm proud of you, you idiot," he whispered.


End file.
